A Tumbleweed Over the Deep Blue SeaThe earth is but one country and mankind its citizens ~Baha'i

The earth is but one country and mankind its citizens ~Baha'i

The Three Big Dogs and Where They Went

Before Elf, there were three lovely big dogs with me. This tells what became of them.


Pinta Bean

Back on Martin Luther King Day, January 18, 2010, the security gate at this new place opened for unknown reasons. Pinta Bean and Willy-chu were in the back yard. Luckily I spotted Willy's happy freedom prance down the driveway, where he paused to survey the possibilities. Out the front I whizzed, called him, and he surrendered in a pleasant and gentlemanlike manner -- after insisting on a quick visit to the dogs across the street. Good thing the car coming at him slowed down before clipping his tail feathers.

I thought Pinta Bean was still in the backyard. While returning Willy there I called for her. No Beanie! Hastily securing him in the chain link run, I made ever wider circles of the neighborhood, loudly calling her name. Cold, drizzle-threatening weather with a wind was unpleasant. Undeterred I kept going till the wheelchair batteries ran down. Fetched the old one, continued the search till it was time for a Baha'i observance of the King holiday long before scheduled at my house. Oh, how hard the feelings!

Beanie ran out a few times from our former home, but only when there was somebody out to see what she was up to. She'd always been easy to find -- she'd visit the dogs in the neighborhood. After I called her a time or ten she'd come to follow me home... This time I began to have a terrible feeling, for she had not lived here long enough to know the first thing about the neighborhood and she was not visiting any of the dogs around our area. After the observance, my truck proved to have a dead battery, so a friend drove me around in bigger circles as drizzle fell with twilight. We looked and looked, called and called. No little brown Beanie, nothing.

In the days, weeks, months afterwards I continued to look, advertise, speak to numerous neighbors, contact shelters and rescues within a 50 mile radius, keep in touch with the animal control people -- who steadily said they'd never seen her -- and a friend checked the county animal shelter daily. Nothing till one day while driving around I showed Beanie's photo to a local man. "That dog was killed right in front of my house last week," he declared. Animal Control, he stated, had picked up the body. Animal Control denied that when I called later. Another local person observed that Animal Control was known occasionally to not mention such things, in order to avoid extra paperwork. Well, I had at first felt that Beanie must have been taken in by somebody, but sadly, after a few days of that the intuition came over me that she was... gone. After all, she'd never needed street smarts before!

Five months later people were still coming to me, saying they knew where there was a dog "just like her" -- but none of these leads checked out.


Oso

By the end of April I couldn't fool myself any longer -- Oso, age twelve and a half, was having more trouble walking in and out of the house than was acceptable to permit. It took time to accept that it was selfish to keep him going when he had so little pleasure in life any longer, and in fact was showing signs of suffering with every move. Thus, heavy hearted yet knowing it was right, towards the end of May I said goodbye to my beloved old friend. He who had first entered my life as a tiny pup, smaller than a cat and resembling a coyote. The baby had been tossed on the ditch and abandoned. The moment I looked into those wise amber eyes of his, I heard him say, "I am your dog." Just as tiny Beanie, another street waif, said two years later, when my daughter's friend brought her to our house. Just in time for my birthday in January. And her eyes were never wise, but filled with joy and mischief.

The vet and several of her staff came to our house. Oso laid down his head and went to sleep for the last time right on his own bed. The dull ache that appeared in my heart later took weeks to lift... I am grateful for all those good years that we had.


Willy-Chu

It had been occurring to me that a smaller dog would be better suited to my more recent condition, i.e., losing strength and mainly in a power chair. After Oso's passing Willy-chu, the Newfoundland mix of 95 pounds, did begin to sober down. Pleasant it was when at last he lost enthusiasm for jumping on people who came to visit, and that he would stop chasing birds when I said, "Leave it!" Yet it was obvious that the big boy wasn't truly happy. Sleeping more than ever and his eyes might lack sparkle. Old Oso and he used to have regular lying-down wrestling matches, after all, ending up snoring side by side in the living room. So I began looking around for a companion for him. Since I'd long thought a corgi would be a great dog for me, I went through rescue sites seeking a suitable one. There were some corgi mixes that were a little larger than regular corgis, and looked pretty nice to me. But... Rescue people did not like the description I furnished of my dear but dominant Willy-chu. They insisted their rescued part-corgis would definitely get into fights with him, and lose.

Hard facts faced me. For a year I had been realizing that Willy-chu would benefit through a more active person in his life. Somebody who liked running, biking, walking, or who had an active kid or two. With me his life was rather slow paced for a large, active fellow. Adopting a corgi puppy was a bit of a risk, yet I was ready to see if Willy would accept a small dog. He was, after all, good with other (non-dominant) dogs. So on June 9 a nine week old female corgi pup was delivered here, one whom, the breeder assured me, "is the sweetest puppy I have."

At first Willy-chu seemed pleased, even protective, lying beside her and walking gently around her baby steps. For my part, I avoided showing her undue affection for a while, and certainly not when he was observing. Still, he snapped at her twice, chasing and pushing her. So the very hard decision was made by me, to deliver my big black dog to a no-kill shelter. There he passed the personality test with flying colors -- no aggression. The young man who took Willy in remarked that he was a very well behaved fellow. Well, he should have been after all that work that went into teaching him manners! Plus, he was a wonderful dog to begin with.

It took nearly a month, but dear old Willy-chu, aged two and a half, did go home with somebody. Much as I miss him, rehoming the boy was nonetheless the best thing to do for him. I was his interim home after his time in a shelter, the lucky person to put some manners on him. It could not be helped, by me, anyway, that once in a while he would get so excited when on his leash or while I was holding his collar that he would pull hard enough that I nearly fell out my my power chair and onto the ground. Not a thing that should happen, yet I didn't have enough strength to hold him back. So -- he got another chance with a different family. Yes, I am babbling. I miss him.

This what I have to share with anyone who cares to learn about the three much loved dogs who helped me move away from our home of fifteen years and into a new, strange place. Part of my heart forever, they are...